El Dorado
by The Cute One
Summary: A monster lurking in the shadows, a famous master of magical creatures is missing, a growing cult of Dark witches and wizards threatens a continent. Newt Scramander is drawn to the adventure of a lifetime as an expedition leads him into the jungles of the Amazon. Will he survive with his morals and heart intact? The key to power lies in the myth of El Dorado. AU Non-Canon Evn MxM
1. Prequel

**Hello there! This is the prequel to a interesting story I find myself compelled to write. I don not own any of the Harry Potter-related references. Please do review and enjoy!**

* * *

Life was quiet in the soft jungle; the raucous sounds of monkeys and birds silent in the heart of the foliage. The canopy stretched as far as the eye could see, the animals who normally inhabited the very tree tops oddly absent as the silence permeated the basin. Even the creeks gurgled in soft mummers, fish and snapping turtles unwilling to move an inch from their muddy abodes.

At the heart of the basin lie a waterfall that careened from the mountaintops above the basin. The waterfall Niebla was staggeringly tall; water barely disturbed the lake as it became mist halfway to the ground. When the sun was at full height the humidity of the basin was almost oppressive. Yet the silence stretched across the trees.

The greens and browns of the forest hid many a creature, leopards and lizards using camouflage to stalk their prey stealthily. However these creatures find themselves grossly out-sized by the top predator of the basin. It slithered from tree to tree, the silent killer flashing its golden feathers in the dappled sunlight. It moved like liquid gold, pursuing any creature unlucky enough to find itself outside a borough or nest

Flicking its tongue it sensed a young monkey scrambling in the leaves above. Frantically the monkey swung branch to branch in the effort to find its mother, his terrified shrieks breaking the silence. The noise was all the beast needed to slide easily higher, its claws nimble on even the weakest of branches.

It quickly came across the young monkey as it jumped to a far off tree, a last desperate reach for safety. Mid jump the beast snagged the pathetic creature in its massive jaws, gold spattered with gore as it crunched the small body into nonexistence. It spread its wings as it drifted down to the forest floor.

* * *

When conquistadors heard of El Dorado they assumed the City of Gold existed in the deepest and darkest part of the jungle. But the language of the tribes in close proximity to the basin lacked consonants, thus the greed-fueled Spaniards assumed the native word and context to mean a "City of Gold". The translation was wrong; the better translation would be "The Golden One".

The mention of gold blinded the conquistadors and ingrained the idea of riches beyond their wildest dreams. They were unbothered by the ripple of fear at each time the name was mentioned, dismissing their fear as ignorance of gold's more profitable qualities. The ancient tradition of appeasing the gods by coating a shaman in gold was a wonder for the invaders. Why waste the treasure on appeasing gods that were inferior, if nonexistent, to the devout Catholic?

The essence of the ritual was lost on the arrogant men; appeasing the very real entity that occupied the neighboring forest was a necessity to these people. The creature was a fearsome presence in the back of the tribe's mind, it's silently shifting feathers the stuff of legend and myth.

* * *

May 1923

Sweat poured off the man as a sprinted through the bush, unfeeling of the thorns and branches that whipped across his skin. The shouts and curses streaked through the branches, a Reducto blasting splinters into the sprinter's face. Screaming in agony, his wand unable to shield the blood clouding his vision as his pursuers gained more ground.

Heart racing, mind whirling, José flicked a Stunner behind him, hoping to catch his nefarious company unawares. However much darker curses were flying overhead, his spell casting novel in comparison to the mastery of the magic thrown at him.

His ankle snagged on an exposed root and he heard the bone snap as he fell painfully to the ground. White hot heat radiated off of the injured ankle, his mind too exacerbated to remember a healing charm quickly. Foot steps padded to a halt around him.

A Body–Bind curse struck him across his side, instantly freezing in place. The men already laughed at the pain on his face and the ease of their catch. Hauling him to his feet he hoped the fate of the troop was less morbid than his, though he doubted the rest of the caravan would get away easily. Someone had grabbed his chin and forced José to look up at the antagonist. As his vision began to fail him he managed see piercing yellow eyes before blacking out in pain.


	2. Chapter 1

**Thank you for reading! These chapters are slowly but steadily making their way onto my computer. Please do enjoy!**

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Somewhere in Ireland

The minotaur was more trouble than it was worth, Newt barely escaping its last barrel towards him. The crazed animal frothed and bellowed at its missed shot, burning out in a quick pivot to catch Newt on his left. He conjured a red cape and felt ridiculously like a Spanish matador as he diverted its attention to the swirling fabric. For the last ten minutes he'd been narrowly missing the animal's large horns.

It had been much easier to study the bull male from a distance, safely scribbling down its behavior in his notes as it paced in its warded meadow. Unfortunately an enraged minotaur is absolutely vicious to any and all males in its territory much to Newt's dismay. The apothecary's check heavy in his robes, Newt handled the minotaur with experienced precision. He saw his chance and cast _Incarcerous_ at the beast's hind legs.

A wild scream tore at its throat as it buckled under the ropes, landing frothing and foaming on the trampled ground. Newt heaved a sigh of relief at the placated rare creature, deftly stunning and quickly summoning potions vials. He knew his curse wouldn't hold long, collected the beast's hair, pints of blood, and severed portions of both its horns in decanters. With the deed done the wizard stepped a good distance away and vanished the tethers. A Confundus charm and a scoot in the other direction allowed the tired but pleased man to Apparate to the nearest town.

* * *

Within the next few hours Newt Scamander found himself outside the old apothecary in Diagon Alley. Shoppers passed him this way and that as he stepped into the dingy shop, the various smells of potions ingredients assaulting his nose. Scrunching his face slightly Newt approached the proprietor behind the counter.

"Good evening Boris" chirped the young man, greeting the decrepit old man with a wave.

"Ah, good evening Master Scamander. I trust the trip went well, if for our mutual benefit," he smiled sickly as the implied threat. Having been used to the less-than-legal dealings with the man Newt went to work placing the full vials of ingredients on the grimy counter.

A small smirk of triumph and pride crossed his charming features as the balding sweat-stained man examined the specimens. Boris procured a pipet and took a sample of the blood checking for purity, a swift charm over the hairs and horn pieces for safe measure. Fully expecting to receive the rest of his three hundred galleons the frown of dissatisfaction on the geezers face did not bode well.

"And the rest of it?"

Newt shifted uncomfortably. "That's all I took from the minotaur," he gestured to the examined vials.

"Scamander," Newt caught the drop to his title, "please do reiterate what your contract was with our establishment?"

"To provide you samples of a male minotaur" Newt bristled.

"Is this all you could manage with all your so-called talent? Three vials of common ingredients?"

Newt frowned at the questions. He knew the spleen and brain were helpful in some potions, but he assumed most potion masters would use an equivalent (and cheaper) ingredient. He saw no need to kill the hapless animal.

Newt tentatively answered yes. Boris's eyebrows furrowed and the frown deepened.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you but the contract has explicit direction to obtain _all_ useful potions ingredients from the animal. What you've handed me is barely a fifth of what I could have sold." He smiled cruelly as he added, "I cannot give you your remaining balance. But I do believe that your advancement is a smart fifth of the estimated market price."

He flicked his wand at the door, the bell jingling, "Good day, sell to us again if your sorry arse can properly fulfill a contract."

Newt took the dismissal and stormed from the shop. He marched down the crooked street fuming over the deal. He had spent nearly all of the advancement on the damn trip to Ireland in the first place, saving the rest for that month's rent. How in the bloody hell was he to survive on the fifteen knuts to his name? Seething he reached the Leaky Cauldron and stomped his way up the stairs to his rented room.

* * *

Books and diagrams littered the small space. Sketches of creatures were hung across the walls as journals upon journals of notes crowded every surface. Newt banished a pile from the armchair and sank down into the plush cushions. Newt's life work as an expert in magical creatures bought him little respect amongst the masters of other, more well-renown fields. Work was increasingly hard to scrounge up. His last few paychecks were from apothecaries who asked him to place his life on the line and retrieve ingredients from rare creatures. Recently the few stores that dealt through him had reached out to smugglers and black markets as a means to obtain even rarer and more expensive specimens. As a moral rule Newt never killed the animals he was tasked to track down, opting to collect what he needed and sending the creature on its way. However, like with Boris, the apothecaries were none too pleased with his gentleness over the beasts. Boris made it abundantly clear that unless he was willing to murder innocent animals for profit their deals would no longer continue.

Newt sighed. In his twenty six years never had his financial situation looked to dire. With no business opportunities in the foreseeable future he sank further into the armchair, as if to scooch away from the uncomfortable situation. Newt flicked his wand at the fire place, enjoying the warmth of the new flames as he conjured a glass and decanter of firewhiskey to his side. His passion for magical creatures was rooted deep into his being. His mother encouraged his love on their family farm, raising hippogriffs by hand since he was very young. The sheer excitement and glee of taking Care of Magical Creatures for the first time in third year was a fond memory. He read every book he could find in Hogwarts about the subject, pouring hour after hour into absorbing facts about rare and mythical creatures. Uncaring of the joblessness of the field Newt pursued his mastery in his passion, and by now must be the number one authority on magical creatures in Britain. '_Nothing wrong with an ego boost after such a terrible day' _he mused as he sipped at his drink. If his notes could be turned into galleons he would be a very rich wizard, however the world rarely worked that way. Newt had admitted to himself that his chosen career would leave him penniless '_and soon´_ he grumpily added.

The firelight flickered across his coffee table of papers, the Daily Prophet unread at the top of the stack. A single article caught his eye, mostly because of the flashing smile and good looks of the man in the main photograph. Newt instantly recognized the face of the most famous expert of magical creatures in the world. José Rivera was the authority on the study of magizoology, his chocolate eyes and warm smile standing out against the greens of the jungle behind him. What disturbed Newt the most was the large words "MISSING" above the article:

**Famous Expert Missing in Amazon**

This past weekend marked the seventh month that José Rivera, 33, famous magizoologist, has been in the Amazon jungle. Rivera left in March of this year with a group of twenty witches and wizards from across the globe on the planned six month journey. However seven months have gone by and no word of Rivera or of the other twenty souls reached officials. The expedition was funded by multiple Ministries of Magic and the burden of finding the missing troop has landed on the Brazilian Ministry's shoulders. The troop's main goal was to conduct research and collect samples of magical creatures native to the Amazon, with specific interest in the famous amphiptheres. As stated in our March 10th edition of the _Prophet _the amphithere is the rarest species of dragon in existence, the last sighting of the creature dated to 1600. Little is known of the animals or relative population, however Britain is aiding in efforts to find the unfortunate troop. Officials suspect the renegade band of wizards and witches calling themselves "Sangue" to be a malicious factor in the disappearances. For the last year Sangue has attacked various villages bordering the vast wilderness and absorbing tribes deeper into the forest. The Brazilian Ministry has dealt with continued raids and interferences with Sangue however any motive for these attacks besides fear mongering has yet to be proven. Often the places of attack are riddled with the dead and those suffering of nefariously Dark curses. For this reason search and rescue of the troop will be done cautiously and to not provoke any backlash from Sangue. Further details on the missing José Rivera and his troop will be provided as officials discover more details.

At the bottom of the article lie a missive similar to a classifieds ad:

**Wanted, Experts in Various Fields**

Persons over eighteen with significant experience in the fields of potions, herbology, magizoology, and through knowledge on the Dark arts are encouraged to send resumes to the below address. Due to the international mix of José Rivera et al British witches and wizards are requested in the search and rescue effort for the troop. Food and lodging provided, significant reward for volunteers. Contact Diego for more details.

Heart pounding Newt reread the ad several times, the words "reward" and "magizoology" providing a myriad of thoughts in his mind. No better opportunity could have dropped into his lap. The experience and sheer thrill of traveling to such an unexplored region too good to pass.

Rushing to gather a quill, ink, and parchment Newt hurried to write a short but persuasive resume to the mysterious Diego. He roused his shaggy barn owl Harold from his nap and sent the owl out into the setting sun. Adrenaline and almost childish excitement left him breathless as he gathered what possessions he deemed helpful in the dense jungle of the Amazon.

The Amazon! What an opportunity!

The scurrying came to a stop as Newt caught the tangled net of his thoughts. He may want to believe that he had the experience required of the expedition, but by no means was he the only authority on magical creatures. Other witches and wizards must surely be jumping at the chance to join the mission. Newt also realized, quite suddenly and full of embarrassment, that he knew not a lick of Portuguese. His accent was acceptable in Spanish but no more, and he had to thank lindworms in Barcelona for that. And how exactly was he to afford all this? He cast a summoning charm on a stack of journals across the room, trying to think of a solution to his money problem. The clinking of his meager coins told a very different tale than to his wild imagination. Fear of the unknown rippled through him, his concentration lost on the spell as the journals thudded to the floor.

Newt fiddled with his wand as he became absorbed in his thoughts. The danger associated with the trip must be extraordinary. Given the inherent danger of the jungle and the presence of Sangue Newt felt astutely out of his league. This group has been known to torture its victims in truly sinister ways and they grew in number every day. What would stop such an organization from attacking their own troop?

As a true Hufflepuff alum he tried to look on the bright side. The adventure would surely boost his reputation. Apothecaries who had previously stuck their nose up at his work would come crawling back, probably gaining new business deals in the process. Again the siren's call of a reward fluttered through his head.

Amongst all the inner turmoil Newt glanced down at the article again, the handsome missing expert flashing his smile once more to the room. This seeded another idea in is already over active brain. The prospect of rescuing, and indeed becoming closer to the fetching wizard was a sirens call in its own. Newt traced his finger across the sharp jawline and fringe of the photograph's hair. His eyes were entranced with the very life-like sparkle of Rivera's, confident grace oozed from the man's attentive stance. Yes meeting this particular wizard in person would be a welcome reward in and of itself. A slight blush swept across his pale cheeks as a scandalous flare of his magic filled the room.

That was it, then. Newt would do whatever it took to help save the missing man and his traveling company from the harshness of the Amazonian jungle. Merlin knew how much he needed and wanted the trip, emotions and thoughts swirling in Newt's head as he continued to pack.


End file.
